Where is that Child, This ain't for you

I went wandering...

Romans 8
14 The true children of God are those who let God’s Spirit lead them. 15 The Spirit that we received is not a spirit that makes us slaves again and causes us to fear. The Spirit that we have makes us God’s chosen children. And with that Spirit we cry out, “ Abba,[b] Father.” 16 And the Spirit himself speaks to our spirits and makes us sure that we are God’s children. 17 If we are God’s children, we will get the blessings God has for his people. He will give us all that he has given Christ. But we must suffer like Christ suffered. Then we will be able to share his glory.

I went wandering...

 Taking a quest hoping for a new way of thinking. Fore a stressed while, I only felt safe enough to live within my thoughts. Never before have I felt so threatened to speak, again. Damn, my voice makes them that mad? Must be something wrong with me. "Free me" ain't English, so let me figure out how to talk to them better. But, some days my mind is just too tired and my  thoughts get weary. Depressed tryna learn how to get you to learn. Internally I became angry and impatient with myself. I did not know who was right. Maybe I am criminal and ignorant. Maybe I am an overthinker, over analyzer, over the top... anxiety said. And I let the anxiety and fear talk to me because I do feel very passionately about what is right and wrong. I cannot stand injustice- it is a sickening sight no one deserves to bear alone. So, for the right answers- to calm me down

I went wandering...

Learning is my escapism, my literal liberation. Quickly we learn that liberation is nothing that can be achieved without struggle, questioning of self, and pain. And I stepped on thorns before knowing what they truly stung like. Adrenalin kept my head up, but numb for about 2 more weeks. But the holes in my feet began to puss. Ain't no such excuse as getting tired when you're wandering. Searching for answers in books, relationships, google, myself, prayer, sex, myself and myself. Still frustrated, irritated by the sting of my wounds. They will not heal I cried every day on the inside. Why does it still burn once the torn has been removed? I begged my ancestors. 

Wandering...

 I began to cry. Outside. In front of people, while reading books, watching movies, receiving good news, thoughtful gifts, and running in the arms of distant family. Crying at the reassuring sight of myself within all these God given things. I cried like hell. Cried at the possibilities. Some nights, I wanted to wander in the water just to get to the moon. Only 2 inches away from the edge. Just a brave foot. There was no strength inside me and I cried harder. And the tears ran down my legs, in-between my toes, reaching the soles of my feet. The saltiness stung my wounds shut. New feet made me search more, in new people, places, and things. Found me some shea to heal my soles and toes. Rubbed it real good in my chest to get to that soul too. 
I wandered into someone and they told me "You gotta have heart." I listened. I can't count how many of my folks told me stuff like that. Oh and "Girl, you better grow some thicker skin." Maybe because Black is an extra layer of skin, and woman is a deeper layer of courage. "What the fuck did I get myself into??" I've been crying since birth. Many tears, but the walk got warmer. Ain't quite seen the light, but God I feel it. God, I found it. A rainbow in my tear. 

I'm calling July 5th, 2016 my liberation day. The day, the time, the heartbeat where I fully decide to commit to the journey to forever letting go fear. 

I wrote to myself: 

Dear Kayla, 

You earned your freedom at birth, do not listen to otherwise. You have the right to say whatever the hell you want. Use your magic, protest and stop whatever injustice that invades your homeland. Love whomever and however you please. Write whatever your Truth moves you to. We good, so you good. 

Understanding My Magic

Here is a piece I wrote for my school's newsletter. Enjoy :)  

I spent my elementary years drawing over my homework, reading outside books about Greek goddesses and mermaids, and then talking to my friends about them in class all day long. I would show my friends “Look! This is the Goddess of Loveeeeeeee, Aphrodite. Isn’t she perfect?” But when class ended, I would close my mouth shut all the way till we got home. My parents would ask me “So how was school?” I wondered what if I told the truth and said it was horrible. Instead I said “good” and closed my eyes to try to recreate my mermaid escapism until I got home. Theories like the Bermuda Triangle were always enticing. The constant thoughts of disappearing. I never wanted to go back to school.

All I ever wanted is to be open, curious, and explorative just like the mermaids in my books. Instead of Western Civilization they learned about spells, swim tricks, and the deep mystical history of the sea. I read series after series, watching these mermaids blossom into adult mermaids- taking on Queen leadership of the sea. My 8 year old life was nothing like that, and that was depressing. I was jealous, yet obsessed on how they were able to go outside in their backyards and find treasure as they had the ability to manifest different worlds with the power of imagination. They were all white girls. And I was a city Black girl with opossums and raccoons in my backyard. At night there were gunshots or maybe a tire popping. Either or, the fear made me stop everything I was doing and surrender my head to the closeness of the ground. When I stepped in water, there was no turquoise fish tail that rescued me from reality. And I hated water for that.

I got scolded for being distracted in class every day, even in high school. I beat myself in the head for truly never connecting with my work. It took college to realize that I could never attempt to connect to Abraham Lincoln, before ever learning about Sojourner Truth. Page after page, no one ever looked like me. There was no citing of magic.

When I started to write my own short novels in class, my teacher confiscated my work and told me I was being disruptive, and to focus.

My 8 year old self needed narratives and truths. My 8 year old self needed to know Black girls possessed magic too just like the mermaids in my novels. I wish she knew about the Orisha Goddess like Oya and Mami Wata spirits of Africa. But now I am 20 years old and I could not think of a better age to embrace such truths. The truth is there was nothing wrong with my rebellion against what I was learning in elementary. Studying African and Black Diaspora Studies was always apart of God’s plan and I am proud of myself for never being satisfied with what my teachers told or taught me. The depth of who I was destined to be was always fighting with the Eurocentric pedagogy forced down my eyes and ears. And the pain, confusion, and lack was necessary in order to be glorious in this moment. Now, I can liberate my 8 year old self as my adult self has been placed in the hands of the Wise. And yes I still oppressive teachers, but I no longer feel sad or unmagical, but challenged.

The Black Women professors I have met at DePaul have truly become the fairy godmothers of my future. Like the blossoming characters I use to read and dream about, but they look like me and have conquered everything that I once thought was an impossible task for a Black girl. My freshman year I witnessed the Black woman magic of knowledge when I met Doctor Robin Mitchell in WGS 100. In her class I found healing, and honestly a new beginning, feminism. Everything is a social construction. There were Black women narratives, but institutionalized racism, sexism, and classism benefits from hiding those things from me.  Then, I met Doctor Valerie Johnson who exposed me to the realities of African American politics, but pushed me with her wisdom to go outside and do something about injustice. She also taught me the importance of self care and preservation after my choice of protest. I had to be in my best mindset before I could take on anything that dismantled systems of evil. Doctor Julie Moody-Freeman liberated me when she assured me that no theoretical work in academia is off limits, and you have to find pleasure in the hard work you do. The realities of Black women lives are violent, but we are still here. Because of our magic.  And our magical narratives have touched every corner of the Earth, and with the help of another we can all bare our mystical lost treasures. (Click to tweet!)

Mercury Mantra

"I can re-root my mind and body any time with the grounding presence of the Spirit." 

I cannot stress enough that there has been so many lessons during this Mercury retrograde. There have been arguments, new theories, poems, healing dialogues, resolutions, and also many moments of isolated silence. But despite this mofo rollercoaster, I am still here thanks to God! 

Forever, (and I am sure we have all lowkey been socialized to really obsess this) I was worried about saying the right thing all the time. Making sure that every word that came out my mouth was appropriate enough for whoever was listening. In my head, I find it is impossible to say all the right thing all the time when what is Right is translated subjectively. But, in our world- folks in institutions don't cares about philosophy. My bosses don't care. Some of my elders don't care (still love yall), but do y'all get the picture I'm painting? We live in a hypersensitive world that gives you limited resources to achieve high standards- like being right aaaalll the time. Dis be giving me anxiety, though! And nobody is actually telling me to say the right thing-- but as a Black woman I always get the reaction that it is expected of me in almost every social sphere. The minute I express confusion or inaccuracy the whole world is boggled. This is simply not a healthy situation. 

This Retrograde, I have been challenging this expectation, because why not? This is my period to blossom. Ain't nobody gon stop me either. 

6 So we say with confidence,“The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid.
    What can mere mortals do to me?” Hebrews 13:6

There has been times over the past week where I was resilient in conflict and there has also been times where I got hella sassy and spoke my true mind. But my gift is that I reaped lessons from trying these different interactions. When I found it necessary to be silent, I learned the stories and truths about other individuals, and when I spoke my anger- people heard and validated my voice. 

So, it is okay if you don't have the right thing to say. But, if you have anything to say- SAY IT!  Say it for your own freedom- don't worry about keeping the next person comfortable. It might be wrong, or it might be the Right answer we all have been looking for. Just know that God is your helper. And if you follow His way- it doesn't always align with institutional rules and policies. Coming to terms with the work that entails was the only conflict was inside me.  I was anxious about repercussions to the point of silencing myself. But God wants us to speak just so we can further our learning. Now, repeat, click and share this mantra: 

"I can re-root my mind and body any time with the grounding presence of the Spirit." 

Peace and love,

 

Mercury Retrograde 1 VS America J. 0

ART Marta Buriak

15 Let the peace that Christ gives control your thinking. It is for peace that you were chosen to be together in one body.[c] And always be thankful. Colossians 3:15

This Mercury in Retrograde has been indeed very tiresome on my mind and body. Both of them keep racing and my spiritual self is crouched in the corner witnessing it all. I am a mess and it's present all up in through my Mercury (communication)... What worst timing?? This retrograde makes it difficult for me to nurture my romantic, friend, and family relationships. Because I am a Sagittarius experiencing this, it becomes very difficult for me to articulate all of this jazz to people without them thinking I'm crazy. Instead, when I communicate with folks I appear moody, defensive, and reactionary. But its really my frustration for my lost of words, incomplete thoughts, and far fetched ideas. And I just don't know how to articulate it all quiet yet. But I accept the challenge to learn, because Mercury Retrograde is also about deep self reflection. And at the end of my beautiful and Black day, I do need to reflect and return to my being of gratitude. 

So I am thankful for 

• my relationship with God and how He always works in my favor despite all challenges. 
• my beautiful friends that show me the reflection of myself when I'm being nasty and need a reality check. 
• the random inspiration texts and many, many books and blogs. 
• my colleagues and professors who keep me grounded by focusing on the larger picture (its not just about me!) but we have purpose in this world. 
• my amazing and patient family who constantly pray for and support me on this journey. 

I love all of you, 

Poetry Lounge: Moon Chile of Mine

They say self love is the most revolutionary act, 

But I would argue that a Black mothers love is way more radical in action.

Mainly because the first time we meet God is when we gaze in our mothers faces. 

We saw God in our grandmothers hands.

Needle and thread

Praying that when this skirt is finished that there will be Utopia for our children.

"Here" your mothers says. "Your grandmother made you a skirt"

The fabric makes your imagine what an African princess might wear. 

You embody her actions w lil remix.

You dance in that skirt, laugh and then fall asleep in it.

Safe and sound.

The moon is watching.

But instead of sleeping with you

Your mother drops to her knees and cries at the moon.

The news is talking about another dead Black child

But even in her fear and agony something God like always stirs in her  womb reassuring you 

don't be scared for your Black child.

Blackness holds up the stars, sun and moon.

You.

So don't stop dreaming, mommy

And let your sowing continue to synchronizes the universe.

Searching For a New Eye: Social Media Detox?

Yo Sista is on a Social Media Detox

*ALERT *

During this Mercury in retrograde, I decided to delete all my social media apps. The idea or the Divine message came to me during my random meditation. Lately, stop, drop, and meditate has been saving me on these long days. My days require a lot of human interaction. Interactions with racism, social justice, Black love, and Erykah Badu haters. YES! These people exist! And my days literally be like 

I am exhausted with conversation after conversation. Work, school, more jazz, then maybe a few hours of sleep. This is wasn't the problem for me though. My problem was that my first option of escapism was social media. In between sleep and classes, I was consuming a heavy amount of popular culture. I was all up in it! Now that I knew how to critique it, I ignored that the important relationships certain imagery has with our livelihood. And how certain types of imagery are indeed addictive. For me and many other marginalized groups mainstream media does not nourish our minds, but gives us a temporarily satisfaction. We consume nothing, and stay starving. And I was addicted to all my "precious" apps. So I delete all dat ish!!!!!! 

And I feel amazing without it! Instead of writing a Twitter status, I've literally been pulling out my notes or journal to write poems. Instead of Snapchat selfies and walking with my head in my phone, I appreciate the nature and environment around me. Instead of the latest articles and updates, I am crafting my own stories and lost narratives. I am redefining escapism wherever I go. 

This redirection as changed my eye for beauty. Rejecting the dominant ideologies in mainstream media has cleansed my mind and gifted me with peace. Especially during a time where I'm constantly exchanging energies (good and bad) with folks. I need time to create my own original thoughts and ideas. Honestly, Lemonade made me realize that I need to zone out in order to be one with the Best and True me. I don't know when this will end, because I'm loving it too much! But I encourage everyone to take a break and see how your eyes refocus.

Poetry Lounge: Everything in Me

A poem that helped me heal...

he took everything from me

he took everything from me!

Sometimes we find ourselves losing our strength

 at the expense of another’s satisfaction

soothing a strange addiction 

But that didn’t hit me until I hit him dead in the face.

What is wrong with me? 

I have everything.

God literally equipped me with everything

Call it that act right, and I want it.

Forgive me, 

I don’t pray but my hands only serve with the intentions of love

And deep down I know my human existence caters to the responsibility of love

World love, black love

I’ve been acting right.

So right, so tight that you cannot break us apart.

Maybe not now but soon all the unseen will be replenished

And when the universe is finished you will have nothing.

Nothing in remembrance of your soul.

For the lies you have told make Him unhappy.

Uneasy.

And The Almighty hates feelin “uneasy”

Sew. Sew. Sew.

Reap. Reap. Reap.

White Feminism: Disturbia Rant + Happy Ending

The battling discourses between Black feminism and white feminism are nothing new. But, being a black feminist in a world full of white feminism makes me tired. Black feminist scholars, artists, celebrities, bloggers, musicians, and youth have been promoting the radical notion of loving Blackness. I've never felt more blessed to be a Black woman. But in academic settings (or even online) I always feel a cold tensity come over me when I enter a dialogue about intersectionality and cultural studies with my white feminist colleagues in the room. 

White feminists having been inserting themselves in the critique of Black issues for too long. Being unhelpful as fuck. Trying to merge Black women's issues with all (meaning white women) women's issues. And I'm like how? Tell me how you know what is best for me? Yes, you read some amazing supplement journals and articles that introduced you to race, class, and gender, but that is it. That is not connecting, or living the true experience. White feminists have about 2 friends of color-- probably from a upper/ middle class and met them in college. White feminists who are queer think just because they possess that marginalized identity, that they have every right to critique the problems in the Black community. Nope sis, you get called out, too.

Your input is not only irrelevant, but violent. Black people cannot "just be vulnerable" Or whatever exclusive mechanism you find appropriate that has your privilege value on it. It is more than "just do it" solutions when there are systems of racism in play that do not allow us to "just be vulnerable" in any space. Any space determines the next breath of our lives. We don't need your comments or solutions, we need solidarity.

Buuuuut, this morning I was in the warm embrace of true accompliceship at the LGBTQA annual breakfast at my university. And the speaker, J Mase III, poet, educator, and founder of AwQward Talent, left the audience with some tips about what solidarity actually looks like:

Solidarity is

• Backing up
• Redistributing resources
• Asking how support is needed
• Understanding and owning your privilege
• Being more invested in justice than your own comfort

So please, take this bomb self with you in peace. Embrace the side line, girl it ain't that bad!

Creating Love Wherever You Go

During the winter, life seems to slow down,

like our bodies require more self care and maintenance. The type of care needed during the transition from a fast paced Chicago autumn to slow inconsistent winter is taboo in our culture, there is no need to discuss the importance of it. For example, how we just dive in Winter break after a busy academic semester. We go from socially enjoying good weather in a variety of engagements to confining ourselves to the lonely indoor heat of our houses. Even more lonely if you don’t have a car or Uber funds for days.  And like routine, I too dived quickly into the transition. And I knew I was rushing something, because even though this time is was given to me to relax, I still craved to be in the company of people, lovers and associates, just as if school was in session. The problem with this was that I was repeatedly finding myself sad and disappointed in others for not reciprocating the love and affection I was conditioned to receiving during the school year. I did not know how to experience love by myself or with other things/people/places. 

Limiting My Love, Constraining My Freedom to be Happy 

So I meditated to really face this challenge within me. I realized that I was limiting the love within me. The reality was, I was abusing myself by only allowing my opportunities to love to be with a few people. I was putting so much energy in being sad and disappointed in those few people who could not provide me happiness in the roughness of winter. I was failing to realize that I am not truly mad at folks for doing their lone thang embracing winter break… but REALLY I was obsessing over the way love makes me feel, happy and blessed. And if God is love, and we have God in all of us, I can experience that love whenever and wherever I want! 

Creating Love 

Once I realized, love was inside of me, it was over with, lit. The pain was over, and the healing began. So, what if Tyrone stood you up, he is a Tyrone and you cannot limit him to the only opportunity you experience of love. I went outside, and found love in places I never expected. As I walked out the door, I instantly submerged in the immense gratitude this cold winter had to offer. This whole Earth is experiencing a time of deep healing and rejuvenation. The cold air embraced me with kisses, and I felt warm inside, I felt so in love. And then, I experienced more love at a yoga session as I saw the reflection of my genuine spirit reflected in all the smiles of the other beautiful people in class. 

Say Goodbye to the Lies

The way society romanticizes relationships, really confuses us to understanding when and how can you experience love. It is not true, that you need to be with another person to experience or strengthen your love. When I am alone, I always try to empower myself to experience love in new places and spaces to aspire a closer relationship with all things created by God. That is just the beginning of my gratitude. That is the being God intended me to be.
Psalms 23: 2-3 "He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name."

Can One Truly Pull Themselves Up By Their Bootstraps?

An Essay

Walking off the Fullerton bus stop, I see my homeless friend. We’ve sat, talked, and connected with each other before on various occasions usually just sitting outside of Whole Foods. I would say we definitely developed a friendship.We laughed, and made jokes about being Black in America, but the truths of his reality haunt me every night as I lie my head on my pillow. Closing my eyes, I pray to God to continue to use me in ways to service of others. His reality is he is a homeless Black man trying everyday to pull himself up by his bootstraps. And he is mimicking how European immigrants once did it, but the reality is white supremacy in America targets to annihilate Black men in vulnerable positions like impoverishment. His reality soon became K 9 Unit officers harassing him and arresting him for not having state issued ID. My friend later tells me the story, he tried to reason with the officer, explaining that he was simply trying to get money to catch the train to church. But the K 9 Unit Officers proceeded to emasculate him further by forcing him to stop everything he wanted to do that day to take him to the police station and figure out who he is exactly. Five hours in a jail cell, my homeless friend was finally regurgitated back into the world. Pulling up his bootstraps maybe for the 5th or 6th time that day, he makes it back to Fullerton where I see him again. Before I approach him, I see another Black man taunting him. Telling him that he too was homeless, and that he should not be outside of Whole Foods begging for money. The other Black brother was telling my homeless friend that he feeds himself and pays for his own bus fare, lastly he was telling him to get up and just do it. From my position all I could see on my friend’s face was sadness as his head hung low covering his sign, gazing at his bootstraps. Not a word, but all I hear was him cursing his broken bootstraps in his head over and over again. But in his hands, my friend was reading a book called “Finding Hope”. I walked up to him and all I could say is “It’s a beautiful day to be reading.”

America functions in the favor of white supremacy and patriarchy by enforcing violent hierarchies within different social constructions like race, class, and gender. My friend does not have the same bootstraps as the European immigrants or any other token person. Intersectionality makes our experiences and the shoes we walk in specifically different. Different as in needing different philosophies and resources other than “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” and “just do it”. My friend was experiencing invasion and violence from racist and classist officers as well lack of cultural support from another Black man who has been a similar position. My friend is 22 years old, and trapped in a reality of being pushed back on the cold ground every time he attempts to use his agency to find that opportunity America “offers.” He is homeless, he has nowhere to grieve and reflect on these traumatic daily experiences. So when he is sad in public after he just got released from jail, he becomes a target of more humiliation. I do not agree with the reinforcement of the philosophy “pull yourself up by your bootstraps”, it is a violence, it is a crime to say. But the book “Finding Hope”, my friend was midway through. I peeked on a page while he was talking to me about his situation and saw Hebrews 4:15-16 written before a very long passage. After we parted ways, I looked up the verse in my Bible App on my iPhone. “The High Priest of our understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most” Hebrews 4:15-16 NLT. Pursuing African and Black Diaspora studies, I have been exposed to various ideas of love by Black leaders. Martin Luther King Jr. practiced and preached, agape love. In his work, An Experiment in Love, he talks about agape as a love in action and how it manifests from the needs of your neighbor. It is a disinterested love that cannot and will not discriminate between societal definitions of “worthy” and “unworthy” people. To practice agape love is to take courageous lengths to restore our broken communities. I believe in my friend’s liberation from his situation, because I believe in the work that has to be done by myself and others to help him. And when he is no longer homeless it will be because he sought knowledge in the worst of conditions. Then he made connections with people sharing his story and listening to theirs. When that day comes, I do not think either me or him will consider that “pulling himself up by his bootstraps”, because it required humanity to recognize and value his differences to actively deliver him from the violence of homelessness.

Poetry Lounge: Orange Moon

ORANGE MOON

And I found myself.

The utter reflection of who is me.

Ridged insides stand out because

As a species it is only natural to first acknowledge something’s faults

First.

And as a people we only care about one’s intentions.

Do I fear her or is she kind?

Orange moon.

So rare. Or maybe

We don’t watch closely enough.

Goddess, Orange Moon.

My strange queen.

You are hurt, but the illuminate strength of your love

Is magnificent.

All those ridged craters, but

You are still so beautiful.

So different. So you.

In the purple sky you stand.

I found myself through you.

No I am not

No we are not perfect.

What source of energy is?

Yet you are still worthy of love orange moon.

For we will always be above them.